THE EASTER BOUQUET – Marilyn Armstrong

It was Easter. We weren’t going anywhere or doing anything. No one seemed to be doing anything and to be fair, I was just grateful I didn’t have to cook a huge meal that I couldn’t eat anyway.

I have to say that when you can’t really eat, cooking loses a lot of its attraction. And after cooking for a husband and kids and other people since I was 18 (was I really ever 18?), I could do without ever cooking for anyone ever again.

But I do because Garry doesn’t cook and if I don’t cook, he won’t eat. He might go so far as to open a can of soup, but that’s pretty much it. These days, though, cooking for a crowd is not on my agenda. I occasionally get enthusiastic about trying out a new dish. Mostly I do a lot of sighing while saying: “I suppose I have to COOK.”

The closest I get to that is (1) he will put a frozen pizza in the oven, and (2) he’ll drive to Mickey D’s and buy el cheapo chicken sandwiches.

If there was a good take-out joint in this town, we could occasionally work something out, but we don’t have anyplace worth going. Even when we can afford it, it isn’t worth the effort much less the money.

But I get flowers.

Sometimes, he brings home amazing bouquets and I don’t dare ask how much they cost. He no longer buys them in the grocery store, either. He goes to The Flower Lady who does all kinds of really fancy arrangements. He won’t cook, but he buys me flowers.

And he has gotten really into our birds. He watches the feeders and as soon as they get a little bit low, he’s out there filling them.

“Big group for dinner tonight,” he says, staring out the window. Like me, the first thing he does when he gets up — even if it is just to go to the bathroom — he has to look out the window and see who’s there.

We get pixellated by the birds. You go into the kitchen for something, but instead of whatever you were doing, you just stand there, watching the birds. “I see the pigeons have done a good job cleaning up the deck,” he adds. “You know, while I was feeding them, there were a few on the rail giving me a look which says ‘Get out of the way, fool. We’re hungry.’

“We didn’t get any squirrels today, ” he comments. I assure him we did. Between flocks of birds.

Keep him Marilyn, they all have their advantages. Mine doesn’t cook either, but he always filled up the bird feeders when they were getting low, or at least told my No. 1 so to do it. Actually he doesn’t do very much but being there is a lot. He is my consiglieri.

Garry is getting less active too. He’s 77 and while there’s nothing specifically wrong with him other than a bit of arthritis here and there, he is feeling the years. That’s why, although we are repairing our chimney, we aren’t going to use the fireplace. I can’t see either of us hauling wood upstairs. Maybe we’ll get something electric that looks like fire but requires no wood. No messy ashes or smoke that turns the walls gray, either.

I’d take a guy who had a bit of romance in his character over one who could cook. Hubby could cook, but he’d bitch more than enough to make it not worth the meal. He was not romantic at all. He had other things going for him initially, which is why I kept him around, but when those lost their appeal, we were left with a really dry relationship. So treasure the flowers and the kindness to your feathered friends. Those are rarer than you might think.

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